


Habits

by JLBRD



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, but not what it sounds like, mention of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:48:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLBRD/pseuds/JLBRD
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, being woken up by the smell of pancakes and coffee wasn't the only thing Debbie missed during her sentence.





	Habits

**Author's Note:**

> sleep-deprived seems to be the only state to write these two in. oh, and smitten.
> 
> this is for you, @sing__nightingale.

Five years, eight months, twelve days:

Far too long for Debbie Ocean to expect things to stay the same, but also knowing that Lou Miller is not big on change.

Ever since they were gangly teens, they'd been predictable to no one but each other, easily finding the other's bodega-robbery patterns all over the city.

 _Amateur,_ they'd call each other. Both never having crippling insecurities ordinary kids go through.

It's an unconventional way to make a friend, but going for the same brand of smokes, Cheez Whiz, and tuna cans almost seems like kismet that bond two delinquents for life.

Isn't that what they say?

* * *

It sort of became a thing between them - one bored teen, and the other, broke, trying to outdo the other at early hours of the morning. They're restless souls, so they'd hit the town at its quietest - at least, as quiet as New York City gets.

The lack of a crowd to blend into adds to the thrill of their activities, reminiscent of fucking in a dingy alley, a club's restroom, or a rooftop for all to see, knowing anyone can walk in at any moment.

They know exactly how to chase that nerve-wracking, electric experience that makes them feel alive, awake as they'll ever be.

* * *

One night - or day, suppose - Lou lets her partner _(weird concept that took both a while to accept)_ win, welcomes the humility it brings, and even praises her.

_"Holy shit, Deb. This is incredible."_

_"Yeah, I know, right? I'm amazing."_

That reminds her why she doesn't say nice stuff more often.

(She might also say things neither of them is ready for.)

In the meantime, that cocky smirk will be the death of her. It is a particularly impressive theft where they are both victors.

2:57 a.m. almost 3, but not quite, as Debbie is the impatient type.

Lou is presented - jazz fingers included - with her _(their)_ first ever motorcycle.

She's not sure when the bar was set so high to impress, but _how_   _the fuck_  is she going to goddamn top this?

"You used real money for this?"

"Nuh-uh. Do you know me at all?" Debbie scoffs, but proudly adding, "Only took my skillful hands and ran like the wind. Or rode. You know what I mean."

"And yet somehow, I don't believe you," Lou says distractedly, admiring her new baby. "In any case, thank you. How do I repay you?"

The brunette grins then.

It's a warning of what's in the cunning head, a promise of what's to come. "I take my currency in food or orgasms. Lady's choice."

(Turns out, it was more of a promise of  _who's_ to come.)

"Hop on, then," Lou says, sounding far away. Debbie has never seen a hotter sight: Blonde hair a stark contrast to dark paint, hands testing handlebars, face scrunched up in aloof concentration.

She knew then that she made a great investment.

Impatient and eager now, Lou yells, "Don't want to keep you waiting, princess. The chariot is ready when you are."

Debbie shivers and finally abides.

* * *

Lying in bed, spent, Lou has now learned that Debbie does not fuck around about 1) skillsets mentioned earlier in the night. She has talented hands, indeed.

2) Her food. Debbie is equally demanding in bed and in the kitchen, but she's more than happy to deliver in both places.

3) Intimacy. It may seem like it comes easy in a con artist's world, but she guesses - she hopes - that Debbie making her feel wanted via sweaty kisses, fingers along her spine, and heavy breaths was deliberate.

Otherwise, she would find herself in a sticky situation. No pun intended.

* * *

Having the wrong gut feeling never felt so good.

Lou was tentative about the shift in their... _relationship._ But so far, so good.

_Oh, so good._

This is the point when the routines started. Whether it be 2, 3, 4 in the morning, they'll get up to what they're in the mood for. Debbie doesn't need a lot of sleep - always scheming, always thinking.

Lou is a nocturnal. Naturally, her meal times are atypical.

Cooking helps as a distraction. So when she's stressed, they'll almost have enough food to start a business. (She has gotten so good that she had briefly considered a career in it, but thought it too utterly normal.)

Debbie doesn't mind. She enjoys stealing the ingredients they need.

On one memorable Thanksgiving, they had a full turkey at midnight. Debbie brought it in the previous afternoon, coming in suspiciously sweaty.

_"It's late November, Deborah. How are you sweating more now than that time we outran some mall cops?"_

_"This is a big and heavy bird, Mary Lou."_

_A glare is thrown her way for the offensive name._

_She shrugs. "What do you want me to say, I chased one and killed it myself?"_

Lou doesn't believe that Debbie has moved on to murder, animal cruelty but she checks her boots.

Just in case...

They were scuffed, no more so than usual. Dusty.

_Is that blood?_

She chalks it up to living in New York, but shudders at the possibilities.

* * *

Bingo-rigging during the day,

Watching black and white films at night,

Stealing here and there, re-selling,

Hitting up small casinos,

Devouring what they feel like past midnight,

Taking up hobbies: painting, knitting, baking.

Their lives are impossibly intertwined, but also respectfully orbiting each other, never quite getting the timing  _just_ right to leave their mark in history together.

Day to day, Debbie feels the pressure to reciprocate.

Lou has been so good to her and she appreciates the simple things - an expensive bottle of vodka, a satisfying fuck against the wall, her jewelry collection, velvet suits and cheetah print coats, the treasured bike from so many moons ago.

Debbie's always been the one to dream big, to be ambitious enough to get caught.

She sets her mind to getting an art piece that Lou mentioned in passing. It will be a nice gesture, and she knows it will be appreciated.

* * *

Her plan is revealed, and she disguises it as a con to rival her brother's.

"Baby, you don't have to prove yourself to me, yourself, your family, or anyone. Least of all, Danny." Lou paces, agitated.

"We both know that's not true," Debbie winces.

_Should she just give up the ruse? This isn't worth fighting over._

Those were her famous last (defeated) words as Lou left, not letting their emotions get the best of them.

They'll cool down, and tomorrow will be better.

Debbie knows that it only escalated because she's risking herself by working with a shady guy. But aren't they all sketchy in this line of business?

Her last memory is of Lou's pleading look.

_Don't do this._

And the one Lou doesn't see:

_You've got to let me._

* * *

 

She should have listened.

Now, she finds herself in prison.

_Great._

She's always had a flair for the dramatic, a penchant for self-discipline, but even this is a wee bit over-the-top for her.

"Figures. I wanted to get my girl a fucking painting and I end up in hell wearing orange. Should have done the dumb painting myself," she grumbles to no one in particular.

She sighs, lies on her back, and checks Danny's watch.

She's always struggled to sleep, and now it's worse in this cold, quiet cage.

1:33 a.m.

She wonders, for the first of many times to come, what Lou is up to.

(She finds out, many years later, that while entertaining herself worked for a while, Lou eventually found that it too lonely to stay awake without her.

_"You? Sleeping at a normal time?"_

_"I know. Do you realize how much you've always affected me, jailbird?"_

She cries over this confession. An embarrassing lot.)

For now, they both sleep.

Or try to.

* * *

She'll remember lots of things from her time in the slammer:

The distinct smell of too many bodies and lack of fresh air.

How uncomfortable the rickety bed was.

The perpetual dim, no matter the amount of fluorescents around.

 

These days, she makes sure to collect new memories:

The distinct smell of a body surrounding her every morning, each night, in the afternoon when they need a nap.

How ridiculously luxurious Lou's bed is. _Why do they ever leave?_

The perpetual rays of sunshine that Lou hates in the morning, but basks in if Debbie bribes her with miles and miles of exposed skin.

* * *

 

The heist is main priority as a free woman.

Getting revenge, making money, being reckless yet again. So it seems from the outside.

"This is just like last time," Lou huffs, expression steely.

 

(Really, she just felt like giving her love an extravagant proposal.)

_You're still kind of a brat. But go get her._

She imagines Danny as he writes those words, his approval.

(Not that she needed it, but it's nice to have.)

_Oceans have always been fond of anything resembling trouble, anything shiny and grandeur._

 

* * *

 

She waits, not-so-patiently as that has never been a quality she possessed, along the street where she's pretty sure they lost part of themselves to each other way back when.

Way back when life was simple.

Well, it wasn't a walk in the park, but it sure is easier than the swirling she can't stop her stomach from doing.

2:57 a.m.

 _Fucking finally,_ Debbie thinks as Lou strolls over in that maddening pace only she can get away with.

"You asked all those years ago how you can repay me?" She asks, leaning against a familiar piece of the past.

"Pretty sure I did. If memory serves right, I did it over, and over, and over, and thoroughly-"

"You're disgusting, and I love you, but you're interrupting."

"Alright," Lou laughs, looking at her shyly now.  _What did you get up to, Ocean?_

Debbie beckons her closer.

Lou is hopeless to follow the girl she competed with, fell for, would have killed for and still die for, continues to worship everyday.

A sense of déjà vu washes over them.

Lou is presented - jazz fingers and all - with her first ever ( _and better be the last_ ) engagement ring.

"Be mine?"

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr! let's talk about how this ship is ruining our lives.


End file.
